


Sex, Cheese and Satinalia Spirit

by new_kate



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Alcohol, Anders' Clinic, Anders' Electricity Trick, Cheese, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Gift Fic, Gift Giving, Handers Secret Satinalia, Satinalia, Yes there was a tag for that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-24
Updated: 2017-12-24
Packaged: 2019-02-19 15:55:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13126956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/new_kate/pseuds/new_kate
Summary: Written for Auggie for Hawke/Anders Secret Satinalia (2017).Prompt: Justice gives Anders a free night as a gift for santinalia. He and Hawke exchange gifts and, after drinking a bit too much wine, Anders gets emotional in expressing his feelings towards Hawke. (The second fic prompt was Christmas Sex so that’s definitely happening as well.)





	Sex, Cheese and Satinalia Spirit

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to take a break from the sad part of my longfic for the Xmas week so I'm reposting all the fluffs I'm writing for gift exchanges. Huge thanks to [mikkeneko](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mikkeneko) for running the Handers Secret Satinalia this year!

Their first Satinalia together was going to be perfect.

Hawke had the fire going in the bedroom and a little feast arranged on a small table by the hearth. She waited for Anders in bed, wearing a short red slip she bought from Jean Luc’s Hightown shop: trimmed in white lace, enchanted for extra stamina. She leafed through the smutty parts of “Swords and Shields” to stay awake, tried to keep her hip seductively cocked and ignore the rumbling of her stomach at the rich smells of the food.

At the sound of his familiar steps downstairs she held her breath, listening, waiting for him to head for the stairs to her bedroom. But he was lingering in the parlour, rummaging there for something…

Hawke could wait no longer. She ran out of the bedroom, still barefoot and barely covered, and quietly called out to him from the upstairs landing.

He looked up, and for one moment just stared at her, with that mischievous smile she rarely saw outside their bedroom.

“Love,” he said. “Oh, you’re so beautiful.”

She laughed, bending over the railing a bit more to give him a flash of her cleavage. She’d made an effort: she’d dabbed some red stain on her lips and braided half a dozen velvet ribbons with tiny silver festive bells into her hair. It was nice to have him appreciate the result. Never mind that he always looked at her like this, even when she was splattered in blood and strapped into her ugliest, thickest set of armour.

“I’m sorry I’m so late,” he said. “I was hoping I wouldn’t wake you, I was just looking for something to eat…”

She always made sure there was a plate of cold cuts covered with a napkin waiting for him if he missed supper, which happened more often than not.

“I thought we’d have supper in bed,” she said. “Together. Come on, food is waiting.”

“You shouldn’t have waited up, it must be near midnight,” he said as he started up the stairs. “Satinalia is always the worst night of the year at the clinic, I’m surprised I was able to leave at all. Last year the patients just kept coming until dawn…”

He stopped, once again taking in her appearance.

“Did you want to celebrate? With me, I mean? Did I - I’m so sorry, I should have asked, I’d have tried to come back earlier…”

“You’re here now.” She took his hand and pulled him into their bedroom.

Back in Ferelden they used to deck their houses with fir and holly branches for the festive season. She couldn’t find anything like that in Kirkwall, so she tore some ivy and roses off the side of her house and wove it up the bedposts.

The feast was waiting: freshly baked walnut bread, roasted meats, buttery cookies, spiced jams, and the centrepiece of it all, the lavish, extensive cheeseboard.

“It’s not just Marsher and Orlesian stuff, I had some finest Fereldan cheeses imported for us,” she said. “A few of my favourite creameries were destroyed in the Blight, but these are all quite respectable. I’ve already tasted them all and arranged them by sharpness and earthiness. I got us some wine - I know you don’t drink, but good Fereldan cheese just calls for a nice heavy red, you know? You can have a little taste, I’m sure Justice wouldn’t mind, it’s only once a year.”

“You shouldn’t have gone to all this trouble for me.” He perched on the edge of the bed and took a bite of Highever Crumbly.

“It’s for me as well, isn’t it? The Champion of Kirkwall can spoil herself once a year. All right, time for presents.”

She pulled the wrapped-up bundles from behind the bed and spread the gifts in front of him.

“Here’s the best vellum and ink money can buy, Varric swears by them. He said they really make a difference. Even when he’s out of inspiration, he keeps writing because these just make it so pleasant. You said you’ve been struggling with the manifesto lately, so I think these might help.”

“Thank you,” he said, lovingly touching the glossy pages. “But, love…”

“This amulet is from Merrill’s clan, their craftsman says he’s the best in Thedas. Well, I suppose they all say that. Sandal loaded it up with protection enchantments. It’s more for me, really, so I wouldn’t worry about you so much when we’re fighting. This tree here on the front is the symbol of perseverance and strength, I think it fits you. And this - look, I know you told me not to get you a cat, but—”

“Please tell me you didn’t,” he begged, frantically glancing around.

“No, I wouldn’t. If you want to wait until you’re more settled here, if you want to pick a kitten yourself, it’s fine. I would have hated it if my parents had picked the puppy themselves, me and my mabari had chosen each other, it’s a bond for life. But I couldn’t resist, these are so cute. So, these are for when you get your tabby.”

She handed him a jewelled little collar and a pillow with silk tassells. She hadn’t been planning to buy those - Anders became agitated and sad whenever she brought up the idea of getting a cat. But she saw them in a shop window and instantly imagined a little ginger tabby playing with those tassells and batting it small paws at Anders’ fingers. How would Anders smile, how much more at home he’d feel. Cat makes a home, that’s what people always said in Lothering.

Anders turned the collar in his hands and put it down on the bedspread.

“Hawke,” he said, looking miserable. “I didn’t get you anything.”

“That’s all right. If I wanted presents, I’d have asked. Or hinted, anyway, like we used to with our parents. I’m an adult, a wealthy woman. If I want anything, I can just buy it.”

“I didn’t realise - I’ve never really celebrated Satinalia before.”

“Never? Not even before the Circle?”

“I don’t remember us doing anything at home. I think we might have been too poor for gifts and feasts. We went to the village sometimes, to watch the masks and the dancing. But my father didn’t like it much, so we mostly stayed in and prayed.”

“That’s awful,” she said. “We always had a feast. We all cooked together, half a day sometimes, depending on how lavish we could afford to make it. Only when everything was ready and the table was set, we’d exchange gifts. Carver used to have such a hard time waiting, he’d chop everything he was trusted with into tiny pieces just so it’d cook faster and he could have his presents. One time, when he was about eight, our parents didn’t get him any toys, just new clothes. He’d actually cried.”

“You miss them,” Anders said. “I’m a poor substitute, I know.”

“It’s not that,” she protested. “I’m not trying to relive the past, it’s all different now. I’m happy. This is what I wanted, just you and me, together. I wanted to spoil you a little, sit with you by the fire…”

“You still deserve gifts, and I should have thought of that. But I’ll make it up to you. I’ll get you something tomorrow, I swear.”

“You have something for me right now,” she said and leaned closer to kiss him. “You always do. I suppose we might as well wrap up my treasures festively, to be in keeping with the Satinalia spirit.”

She picked up the discarded ribbons she’d wrapped his gifts in, loosely looped one around his neck, tied a large bow and draped the ends of the ribbon over his shoulder.

Next ribbon went into his hair. She pulled his hair tie loose, brushed the sweat-matted blond strands with her fingers and worked the ribbon into a sloppy side braid. He let her play, smiling fondly, enjoying her attention, as always.

“Come on, let’s get this off you,” she said, pulling on his coat. “Give me space to work with.”

He eagerly shrugged off his coat and pulled his tunic off, and she tied a two pieces of ribbon over both his uppers arms, like two festive bangles.

“Mmm, if only I had little clamps to attach the bells to,” she sighed, kissing his nipples and gently grazing them with her teeth.

“I can get them pierced, if you like,” he said with a wink.

“Intriguing. Let’s talk about this later, I have something else in mind for now.”

She unbuckled and pulled off his boots, unlaced his trousers and pushed them down to stroke his cock to full hardness. She wrapped the last piece of ribbon over the base and tied a double bow there, not tight enough so he wouldn’t be able to come, just enough for him to feel it there.

“Gorgeous,” she cooed, stroking the soft skin, and pressed the first reverent kiss to the smooth, silky tip. “Exactly what I wanted.”

She nudged his legs apart, knelt on the thick woolen rug and took him into her mouth, and grinned around his shaft when he groaned, helplessly, his stomach shaking, his thighs tight under her hands.

She sucked him slowly, loving his familiar scent and every single sound he made. She was going to enjoy herself until her jaw went numb. They had the whole night, after all: everyone spent the day after Satinalia lazing in their beds. Nobody would need them tomorrow, they could sleep in for a change, too. There were some noises coming from the outside: drunk voices, mangled bits of songs. In Hightown most parties were held inside, in the mansions and their inner gardens. There was a big one going on in the Viscount’s Keep. Hawke had the invitation to that and a few lesser competing affairs, but all she’d wanted for tonight was this, him, their home.

“Wait, wait,” he said and pulled her in his lap. “I do have something for you, if you think this counts. I’ve been thinking about a new spell - well, a combination of spells, I suppose…”

“Is it a naughty spell?” she asked, just teasing, but he simply nodded. “Oh, wow, Merrill was right to go through your books, you do have naughty spells!”

“A few,” he said modestly. “But I’ve not tried this one before.”

“So, you’ve been thinking up new naughty spells?”

“I have. For three years, actually. Some day I might tell you about some of those fantasies I used to have about you, things I’d imagine we’d do together…”

She was straddling his lap, her legs dangling, her toes barely reaching the rug on the floor. He pulled her closer, into a kiss, and then pulled back again, far enough so he could watch her face. He stroked her naked thighs and set his finger pads against her sex.

“I think I know by now what your pain threshold is,” he whispered, stroking softly. “But we’ll take it slowly.”

His fingers circled her clit, warm and gentle and getting warmer, warmer, until the delicious heat of his touch spread all over her cunt. Just when it was about to tip into a burning sensation, just as she sunk her teeth into her lip, determined to take it, to ride it out and experience everything he’d give her, the feeling changed. A sudden jolt of cold laced through her heated flesh, making her yelp and buckle.

Anders was smiling, smugly and affectionately at once, slowly running his icy fingertips just at her opening, where she was drenched already. The wetness was making the bite of cold all the more effective.

“Do you like it?” he asked, and she could only whimper in response and clutch at his shoulders as his fingers turner warm again, and warmer, and warmer.

Soon she was screaming in delight every time he switched from heat to cold and back again; she was riding his fingers, dripping into his palm. His fingertips dipped into her shallowly, in and out, in short teasing strokes, and went back to press at her clit, always stopping just short of letting her come.

“Please,” she breathed when she could take no more, and just like that, a burst of something that was heat and cold at once flowed from his fingers, laced through the core of her, and the sharp, blinding pleasure left her shaking, boneless from it for a moment.

She clung to his chest, just breathing, letting the aftershocks dim away, and then kissed him and pushed him backwards onto the bed. He smiled blissfully - his braid was already ruined, his fair hair loose around his face - stroked his cock and held it up for her in invitation, and she climbed astride his hips and eagerly sank down on it.

He was so hard, the silly bow still stuck on his cock, and she left it there as she took him in. The ends of the ribbon flopped between them as she rode him, fast and hard, their hands clasped together - to give her more leverage, but also just for the pleasure of it. He came first, squeezing her fingers, arching into her, and the look on his face was all she needed to join him.

Afterwards they crawled off the bed onto the rug by the fire and cuddled up there on a pile of pillows. They were both still naked save for the silly festive ribbons, and the warms of the fire felt like new lovebites on her oversensitive, sex-damp skin. They sipped wine straight from the bottle and Hawke fed Anders cheese and meats with her fingers, kissing him between each bite. His pale skin looked gorgeous, glowing in the firelight, lightly freckled and perfect except for the scar below his heart.

“This cheese is disgusting,” he laughed when she shoved a morsel laced with green mould into his mouth, and ate it anyway.

“It’s Orlesian, unsurprisingly.”

“I need something sweet to get rid of the taste,” he said sappily and reached for a kiss, and she happily obliged, and then took a gulp of a wine and fed it to him in another kiss.

“I’ve never been this happy,” he said. She hummed in agreement, cosily nestled against his side.

“I suppose that doesn’t sound like much, does it?” he mused and took another drink. “Considering what I compare it with. I was in the Circle, and then I fought Darkspawn, and then I lived in the sewers. Of course this is the height of luxury for me. That’s not why I’m happy.”

“Shh, I know,” she said, eating cranberry jam out of the jar with her fingers. It was a bit messy, but she didn’t want to get up to get a spoon. She could get him to lick up any stray drops later.

“I’m finally free. And I’m in love. I’m finally free to love. I can’t tell you what it means to me. To any mage. This is a treasure, a blessing I couldn’t have hoped for. You are a treasure.”

She kissed him with her sticky mouth and he licked at her lips before pulling back again.

“I think I’m getting tipsy,” he said. “I nearly forgot what that was like.”

“I thought Justice didn’t let you.”

“I think he’d decided I deserve a night off once a year. Mmm, this is pleasant. Maker, you look gorgeous.”

“That wine is really working, huh?”

“You’re always gorgeous. From the moment I first saw you, I couldn’t get you out of my mind. Through everything that happened, every horror, every loss… I wish I’d made this celebration better. I’m sorry it turned out like this.”

“Better? Anders, this is perfect. Don’t you think this is perfect?”

“Well, yes, but you deserve so much more. I hadn’t even thought to get you presents. What kind of a lover am I?”

“I didn’t want presents, I told you,” she said, determined not to get irritated. “This is exactly what I wanted.”

“You’re too good to me,” he said and dropped a kiss to her naked shoulder. “I was just thinking - even if I were to get you something, where would I get the money? Everything I have is yours. You shelter me, in every sense of the word. You put roof over my head and keep me safe from the templars. You feed me, you clothe me…”

“I attempt to,” she said, a little bitter at the reminder. A beautiful golden and turquoise set of silk robes she’d had tailored for him was still in the wardrobe, unworn. He’d refused to even try them on.

“I’m a stain on your reputation, a burden, a constant source of trouble. I come here every day after clinic, into your beautiful home, and I can smell the stench I bring with me, Darktown’s shit, blood and misery. You’re a refugee too, you lived through it all, you worked so hard to leave it all behind, and here I am, dragging it back to you every time.”

“Anders…”

“Meredith knows about it, and she’ll try to use it against you some day, I have no doubt. And what do I give you in return, for all the risk, for all your sacrifice? All I have is my body, worn, tainted and possessed. I don’t know why you want me.”

“Because you’re gorgeous,” she said. “Obviously. Because I love you.”

“Oh, love,” he muttered. Suddenly there were tears in his eyes, glistening brightly in the firelight. “You’re - you should be adored, worshipped, and I’m not even here most of the time to give you what little I still can. When I think of everything that’s to come, the ugliness I’m going to bring into your life, all the ways it will hurt you…”

“What ugliness? Anders, love, no,” she hugged him and cradled his head to her chest. “Nothing bad will happen. Never. Anyone looks at you wrong, I’ll rip their throat out, you know that, right? We have this, and we’ll keep it. We earned it. I don’t mean the house, or the --” she paused, looking for the word to describe all the trappings of the Hightown lifestyle at once. “The draperies. I don’t care about that. I mean us, me and you. This will always be. If anyone tries to destroy what you and I have together, I’ll kill them, it’s that simple.”

He sobbed against her skin and held her close, his fingers digging into her bare skin. He was crying now, his back heaving under her hands, his tears trickling onto her stomach.

“Sweetheart, what’s wrong?” she asked, near tears herself just from the heartache of seeing him in pain. “No wonder Justice doesn’t let you drink. Look, you need to tell me about these worries you have, it does you no good keeping it all in. I know, I’ve done it for years when I tried to be the head of the family, carrying it all myself. Talk to me, love, please.”

He quieted and calmed against her, but didn’t say anything, and they just held each other in silence and listened to the soft crackling of the fire.

“I love you,” she said, stroking his hair, wishing she knew just the right words that would help. “I’ll always love you, whatever happens. You know that, right?”

He started to pull away, maybe to answer, but then there were voices outside, a quick commotion, and soon a rap at the door.

“Messere Anders?” Bodahn’s voice asked.

“I’m here,” Anders said, quickly wiping his face.

“There’s someone called Frankle, he says it can’t wait…”

“Has his sister gone to labour? She’s not due for a week yet.”

“She’s bleeding!” came another voice from the stairs. “Healer, please!”

“I’ll be right there,” Anders said. The blue glow briefly washed over his face, and he instantly looked fully sober.

“I’m sorry, love,” he said, dressing quickly. “It’s going to be a complicated birth, I have to run.”

“Of course,” she said and pulled her own clothes out of the wardrobe. “Grab some of that cheese and bread, please, if we’re going to be there a while we’ll need sandwiches.”

“No, sweetheart, just go to bed, please…”

“I know you’re perfectly capable of cutting your own swathe through the night time throngs of bandits,” she said. “But if it’s urgent, I might as well come along and speed things up.”

The woman’s family had brought her to the clinic when the bleeding started. It’s been months since Anders had moved into the mansion, but somehow the patients still expected to find him here at all hours, at their beck and call.

Hawke took one look at the bright blood on the cot and on the floor, at the grey-pale, tear-streaked face of the woman, and quickly herded everyone else outside.

“We should give him space to work,” she said and passed around some sandwiches. The relatives took them silently and held them, as if they forgot what to do with food, and stared fixedly at the door of the clinic.

“She’s not screaming anymore,” said the older woman. “It’s all gone quiet. Is she--”

“He stopped the pain, that’s all,” Hawke said. “He’s good at that. There was that one time I was impaled on a sword this big…”

She regaled them with gory tales until Anders called them in. The woman was still very pale and looked exhausted, but she managed a wan smile when her family rushed close.

“We’re nearly there, the baby is about to crown,” Anders said. “This will hurt again, I can’t numb that. You can hold her hands, this will help.”

He ducked between the woman’s spread knees again and told her to push. Her face crumpled in pain, lips shuddering, and Hawke had to look away for a while, until there was another scream, a new voice, high and shrill, and then the whole family burst out in a cheer.

There was still work to be done while the family cooed at the baby and wiped her clean, and the mother tried to feed her for the first time. Anders cut the cord, coaxed the placenta out and healed the mother. Hawke mopped the floors, gathered bloody rugs into a bucket, took the silver bells out of her hair and pressed them upon the happy family as a celebration gift, along with a gold sovereign.

They moved the new mother onto the clean cot in the corner to rest, and sat down themselves to catch their breath a bit.

“You know,” Hawke said, slipping her hand into his. “This, on our first Satinalia together, just might be a sign of the things to come, don’t you think?”

He smiled tightly and took a long moment to answer, and just then two dwarf men burst in through the door.

One of them clutched a wad of bloody cloth to his stomach and stared around with a stony face and confused eyes of a blind drunk. The other one was holding the wounded one up, and he had a blade out.

“Healer,” he said. “Help my brother, or I swear--”

“Don’t finish that thought,” Hawke advised and stepped up to him, ready to draw her own knives. “In fact, don’t even fucking look in his direction.”

The dwarf blinked at her, suddenly bent over and threw up on her boots. He dropped his brother, leaving Hawke no choice but to catch him, staggered back, softly flopped down onto the floor and passed out.

“A sign, you say?” Anders sighed.

“Or not,” Hawke said and pulled the heavy, barely conscious man onto the vacant cot. “I’ll get the mop.”

From then on the flow of the patients didn’t slow down for hours. A few more drunks with stab wounds and broken bones were dragged in by their friends. A man came in with his right hand clasped under his armpit and bleeding all down his side, three of his severed right fingers held before him in his left fist. And later, close to dawn, a Fereldan couple came in with two crying children.

“We tried to give them a proper Satinalia feast, just like we used to have back home,” said the father. “We couldn’t afford that last couple of years.”

“They loved it, they were fine,” the mother said. “And then… You know, I heard some shops would sell people like us bad food, or even put poison in it. They all hate us in this city, they’d be happy if we all just dropped dead. We should have tasted everything, it’s just that there was barely enough for these two…”

“I’ve not heard anything like that,” Hawke said. “But tell me if you know which shops cheat or harm the refugees. I’ll look into that.”

“You?” the father asked. “What can you do? I suppose people here and in Lowtown respect the Healer, but even so…”

“I’m the Champion of Kirkwall,” she said, oddly pleased to be known just as the Healer’s woman for a change. “Also, I have knives.”

“They’ll be fine,” Anders said. He’d been soothing the children with a careful spell, and they had both stopped weeping. “The food was too rich for them, after what they’ve been eating lately. Normally I’d recommend flushing it out, but it’s a shame to waste all that goodness, isn’t it? Let’s see if we can coax their tummies to accept it.”

At some point, as the sky outside was greying and the sewer outside of the clinic still was still buzzing with waiting patients, Hawke reclined on a cot to rest her eyes a little. Anders didn’t need any help for the moment: most of the crowd now were revellers from the Hightown parties, who were just sobering up and realising that the night’s adventures had left them with considerable and embarrassing genital discomfort.

She woke to the sun high in the sky and a gentle kiss on her cheek. Anders was sat on the cot next to her, petting her hair. The room was empty, except for the two of them. He looked wrung out, pale, the shadows under his eyes deep and dark, but he was smiling, and he was beautiful.

“Morning,” he said. “I’m sorry about yesterday.”

“It was the best Satinalia ever. I’m so proud of you. Did you get any rest?”

“A little. And I finally have your presents.”

He gave her three bundles wrapped in clean muslin they hadn’t yet cut up for bandages. She took them and immediately ripped into the biggest one, just as Carver would have done.

It was a knife, a good dwarven make, wicked and perfectly balanced. With a couple of right enchantments it could be better than her current favourite.

“I hope it’s nice,” Anders said. “That dwarf boy wanted to thank us for saving his brother, and I know you like weapons. He said you can only get fine crafts like that in Orzimmar, or Denerim.”

“It’s lovely,” she said and unwrapped the other one to uncover a small, lopsided wooden dog figurine.

“Um,” she said, holding it up.

“Remember I reattached some fingers last night? That man was overjoyed that he could already use them again. When I told him how I ruined your Satinalia-”

“You didn’t…”

“Well, I said I’d love to give you a present, and he offered to whittle you something. I asked for a dragon, of course, but he wouldn’t have that kind of agility in his hand for some weeks yet.”

The last parcel was her own handkerchief that Anders must have taken from her pocket while she slept. It was from a dozen Mother had ordered years ago from a Hightown shop, with the red Amell crest embroidered in the corner. But now there was something new stitched next to it.

“It’s a hawk,” Anders said. “The happy new grandma did this for you.”

“Why is it blue?”

“That’s the only silk she had left in her stash, apparently. Look, it has little knives in its claws.”

“So it does,” she said, pleased. “Again, best Satinalia ever. Can we go home now? I look forward to spending today in bed.”

“I can’t,” he said apologetically. “I’m meeting some people at noon, here in Darktown.”

“Mage Underground?”

“Please don’t ask. It’s safer if we don’t talk about this.”

“All right,” she said and pulled him down to lie next to her.

The flimsy cot creaked under them, but held. They kissed, slowly, softly, and then pulled apart just to look at each other in the bright light of the winter morning.

“There’s plenty of time until noon, you know,” Anders said, and with a dramatic flourish whipped out of his pocket a piece of ribbon, creased and stained, tied into a small loop with a double bow. “If you’re still in the Satinalia spirit.”


End file.
